


Fire Lily (Here we are, in the blooming)

by ryucreates



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Autistic Character, Din's POV, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, References to Depression, and a little tiny bit of angst, back in the colors, dont worry about it, here we are, it's like pepper, its whatever, lil tiny bit of fluff, lotsa flowers, neurodivergent character, theres a lot of fire in this one, well one flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryucreates/pseuds/ryucreates
Summary: He's never sure about much, how the universe collides, how the children have happiness deep in their hearts, how someone as soft and pure as him can be so enveloped in a cloak of the deepest shadowsMaybe this time's the exception.Maybe he'll know.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Fire Lily (Here we are, in the blooming)

**Author's Note:**

> am i on my soapbox about din being neurodivergent? yes. do i give a singular flying fuck? absolutely not. never.  
> anyways have this oneshot about colors and fire n shit
> 
> oh if you want a mood song to go along with this, i wrote it while listening to In A Week, by Hozier

He’s not sure how he missed it, in retrospect. He’s not sure how he missed the world around him turning vibrant blues and greens, leaving pastels and trails of yellow-white gold in the wakes of the clouds, the rosy tint to his visor and the soft textured feeling of skin next to his own. He doesn’t know when it started exactly, maybe a week into the arrangement.

He had been smiling widely at the kid. He had been a blend of glorious fires, reds and pinks and oranges melded and burnt like mahogany on a funeral pyre. He would be the end of Din, and oh how honorable an end it would be, to be charred by a phoenix such as he. To be burnt alive like a match, sending out sparks of his life and failures as he simmered down to his bare ashes. It would be like coming home, he thinks, the feeling of fire running through his veins has always been with him, from the day his world crumbled to the day he too emerged from its ashen remains.

Maybe he was born to be burnt like this, delicate flame tickling under his chin and along his spine like a lover’s caress, like  _ his  _ touch, sending warm flickers of pure heat and love up into the depths of his inner ears and hippocampus, harried scratches and whispers of  _ not now, later Din _ burning like dry woods alight with new life, like nothing in the world could stop him except the tremble of paper thin nerves lit by scorching waves of absolute tenderness. 

He’s both too much and too little at times. When he runs his hand along the underside of Din’s wrist -  _ calloused skin rubs against leather softened and pliant hands and Din’s world is caught on fire in an instant, nerves lighting up like live wires and tangling as they send frantic waves of panic and feeling and he’s short circuiting and gasping for air, drowning in smoke and smog and the distinct taste of love ringing through his ears  _ \- He could swear up and down that the sound he makes is akin to a banshee, screaming into his mind and tumbling through his body and through his helmet, only to die as a whisper in the open air, smothered by the arid  _ heat _ of Corin’s eyes.

Maybe it’s the bright in the pale that does it for him, maybe it’s the shine in those iced over eyes, frosted light beckoning him forth into the heated pools of his irises, stark contrast in blues to the whites of the snow around them. 

Maybe it’s the way he’s touched, like a nova bursts over a simple piece of paper, smattering blues and reds and yellows in radioactive glamor -  _ and how beautiful a starburst you’ll make, a thousand colors sent wayward throughout the galaxy, and I with my scope will be the only one to catch it  _ \- covering his skin like the  _ Beskar’gam _ he dons in the morn.

Maybe, maybe, maybe -  _ His hands are shaking, his teeth rattle about in his skull and oh, how do people live like this, with their world alight in the fires of love, in the pain and fear and terror that comes with this light. Maybe he’ll finally die in the brightness, consumed by the blaze of Corin’s love, the flame kept alight by tender touches and blooming petals unfurling in the sun’s heat  _ \- maybe he’s worth this feeling.

The feelings never stay long, he’s found. They leave, they drop off the worlds like gravity takes the pollen from the flowers -  _ they bloom every year, knowing they are to die as soon as the stars deem others worth their heat  _ \- like his life drops out from under his feet.

Corin treats him like the stars treat the flowers, lavishing love and care a heat onto them without end, coming back everyday to sit silently in the back of the room -  _ It’s beautiful how he acts like he can’t see it, can’t see the warmth and rays he shines through, like he’s nothing in the universe when Din knows the truth, when Din knows how bright he is, how glorious his life is, sending love and care and attention to him and Din can never move, stopped in his tracks by the sun  _ \- never coming closer, afraid to burn him. But Din isn’t afraid of being burned.

He supposes it’s funny, how they’re stuck in a dance around each other, tepid and timid steps forward and back as they skirt around each other, never daring any closer for fear of the fires that keep them at bay.

It wouldn’t be so horrid to burn.

It’s never as they say it is, always reds and oranges and never the brightest of blues like his  _ tracinya _ , his flame. They never speak about the frosted touches of death being washed away by the arid warmth of skin, never talk about how the temperature stays stagnant as his body burns, crumbles to ashes in the wake of the blazing love of his  _ cyare _ .

There’s a word for the burning.

If only Din could remember.

If only Din could get himself in control, back to the greys and the silvers and not the blues -  _ he was colorless for the longest time, living in darker shadows and staring out at the pastels of the foundlings. He’s not sure when he started doing it, but some days he’d find himself cursing over the reds and oranges and yellows spilling from his wrists, his thighs, his neck and his awful ugly face, isn’t he so glad that he has a helmet to cover it all, isn’t he so glad that he has pale armors to cover all the grey _ \- the blues that make his life _ jate'shya _ , for better or worse. The blues that make him feel alive -  _ electricity burning through deadened nerves, oh Maker when will it all end, when will this feeling finally finish blazing through my soul  _ \- like nothing could ever stop him except the stony blues and the fiery cyans of his  _ kar’ta _ , his heart. 

How he moves, how he speaks, sending shivers of living flames up his spine,  _ not now, not now, later later later _ chanting in his mind, over goosebumps and under tremorous and traitorous hands and gloves and fingers and it’s all  _ too much _ , the way he lo-

The way he -

The -

It’s -

It’s invigorating, the way he practically covets Din’s skin, like it isn’t just another mark of his ineptitude, like every moment he looks into a mirror he sees the same small child that lost absolutely everything, without being able to do a thing except cry and cry and cry. Like he’s worth something, like he isn’t just a means to an end, like maybe he’s actually doing something right in place of all the  _ wrong _ .

Like maybe there’s something more to his life.

Maybe it’s -

Could it be?

_ Is this what it all feels like? _

Is this it?

_ Kar’taylir darasuum? _

Love?

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Beskar’gam: armor  
> Tracinya: fire, flame  
> Cyare: beloved  
> Kar'ta: heart  
> Kar’taylir darasuum: love  
> Jate'shya: better
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! <3


End file.
